Under the Car
by RosaLev
Summary: Just a simple one shot.  Sara under the and what she might be thinking about.


Disclaimer: CSI does not belong to me. If it did Sara would not be under a car and we would not have to wait all summer to find out what happened to her.

A/N: CSI, GSR one shot. I'm still working on my other story (The Wedding) but this story would not leave me be until I wrote it down.

Under the Car

It's funny what you thing of during times like these. The searing pain in her chest had nothing to do with the car on top of her. She wanted to flood her mind with happy memories and the possibilities of the future but she couldn't. When she thought about his smile and the way he held her, she missed him so much that she couldn't stop herself from crying.

Even after almost two years together, she found it almost impossible to keep her hands off of him. After years of longing to touch him she couldn't contain her glee at be able to run her fingers through his hair or slide her hands down his spine. She attempted to reign herself in at work, even when he couldn't. Surprisingly it was he who pushed the limits of there self-imposed secrecy. He imbued their every interaction with over whelming feeling. When they couldn't touch, he watched her. He would search for her eyes across the room and capture her gaze.

Once in a while he would call her into his office and close the door. It was than that he would hold her, tightly, almost desperately in his arms. He would breath heavy in her ears before burying his face in her neck. He was never able to voice what he was feeling. He was never able to tell her about the demon's that haunted his dreams and thoughts. He was never able to tell her all the things she wanted to hear but would never ask him to say... _I love you Sara... I'm sorry it took me so long... I should have told you about Heather... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love you._

That was never his way. His declarations came in the form of a key to there new home, a home made dinner, a puppy named Bruno, a cocoon and once that letter, that beautiful letter. She hadn't even minded that it was mostly a quote. In their time together she alternated between loving his quotations and hating them. When anger boiled inside of her she couldn't think of his quotes as anything besides a shortcut. Grissom co-opting another's emotions so he could avoid examining his own. She hated to think of Grissom using short cuts with her when he refused to use them in any other area of his life.

When she lay next to him in bed and he recited a sonnet softly into her ear before pulling her on top of him she smiled and melted into him.

"I always wanted to be a poet" he told her before kissing the length of her body and declaring that he wanted to make love to her. Grissom was the only person Sara had ever met who could use the term, "make love" sound perfect and beautiful instead of silly and cliché.

He almost never told her he loved her. He seemed to think that she should just know.

"How could you not know how much I love you." He told her almost spitefully after she confronted him about Heather. After she had the audacity to ask,

"Do you love me?" She had been sitting on the back porch halfway through a pack of cigarettes even though she had quit smoking almost 7 years ago.

"Of course I love you! How could you not know how much I love you!" She had been unprepared for the rage in his voice. She didn't know at that point that the rage was directed internally and not at her. She exhaled, trying to stay strong. She didn't want to flinch, no matter how much his voice reminded her of her father, if even for a moment.

"I quit for you." She told him suddenly. "When you asked me to come here I thought that it meant you wanted me. I knew how much you hated the fact that i smoked so I quit. I didn't realize that it would take so long for you to kiss me. I didn't realize that even after i finally thought I had you that you would be spending the night with another women. I didn't realize there was no point." Sara chugged her cold coffee and shivered. He watched her, knowing before she did that her shaking had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with her fear that he would leave her, the fear that he really loved another.

"Sara" He said gently, unsure of what he might say next, "you know..."

"That's right" Sara interrupted, re-energized, "I'm just supposed to know right. I'm just supposed to know how you feel. I'm just supposed to know the status of our relationship without actually talking about it. I'm just supposed to know that you screwed a murder suspect. I'm just supposed to know that you give a shit. That way when ever you decide that you're done or that something else or someone is more important it won't be your fault. I was just supposed to know that this is how it was going to work out." He stared at her, fear making him immobile. "I'm just supposed to know that you're sorry" Sara signed deeply before getting up and walking inside, "Or maybe I'm just supposed to know that you're not sorry at all." She shut the door and he stared after her, waiting for her to turn around and smile at him, letting him know that once again, he was forgiven. She didn't.

Later that night when he climbed into bed with her, she feigned sleep. He was relieved, if only because it meant she wouldn't kick him out of bed. He inched closer to her until his face was buried in her hair.

"Tell me we're Ok" He begged her quietly, "Tell me we'll be OK." he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to her and holding her so tightly that if she had actually been asleep she would have woken up within moments. She turned to him and he wordlessly buried his face in her neck. Her neck was damp and hot where his tears fell and she felt her body respond to him against her will. She held him and soothed him quietly until he stopped shaking. He made love to her than, first quietly and than possessively as if he had to prove to himself that he could keep her with him by sheer force of will. His mind screamed with every emotion he felt for her but all he could choke out was

"I always wanted to be a poet."

He had spent the weeks since, trying to make it up to her and he was, slowly. They had fallen back into their quiet routine. She hadn't quite forgiven him and he hadn't quite forgiven himself but they were getting there.

Sara moaned quietly to herself willing herself to stay awake. Torn between the memories of Grissom keeping her alive and tearing her apart inside. She wanted to be holding him and telling him that it would be ok.

"Find me Gil" She begged aloud, "Please find me and bring me home." She laughed at her inability to be more elegant with her speech, "I always wanted to be a poet."


End file.
